


Psiioniic: Don't Be Okay ==>

by TemperanceReversed



Series: Brave New World-A Homestuck AU [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Forced Relationship, Non-Con Kismesissitude, Non-Con Matespritship, Torture Mentions, broken diamonds, original Ancestor names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemperanceReversed/pseuds/TemperanceReversed
Summary: Obligitory Psiioniic Trauma fic.





	Psiioniic: Don't Be Okay ==>

**Author's Note:**

> Gh0st Rambles: Obligatory torture Caylyx with Helmsman flashbacks fic!  
> I love Psii don’t let my torturing him persuade you otherwise.  
> I’m no good at coding (AO3 eats what little I can manage), so this isn’t as cool as I wanted it.

Be Caylyx ==>

You are the Helmsman of the Battleship Condescension, and you have no clue who this Caylyx troll is. You assume they must be one of the rebels the Empress mutters about because the thought of the name sends your automatic punishment routines into overdrive.

Your back arches from an influx of electricity and your head is thrown back in a silent scream. You wore out your vocal cords sweeps ago, and she hasn’t healed them yet.

It hurts, but physical pain ceased to have much meaning shortly after; to really punish you, mostly for spurning her advances these days, she’s violated your sanctuary, deep inside your mind, the blankness before the door behind which you shoved everything that once made you. She’s made it hurt to even look at that door, not to mention even try to stop her from breaking it down.

She’ll drag _him_ out of it, and the forbidden thoughts will cause your own psionics to turn on you and she’ll tear _him_ to pieces while all you can do is wish you could scream.

You stopped spurning her advances. Let her think you’re red, but you’re blacker than the space outside your hull for her.

You wake up because someone is screaming. It’s you, you’ve woken yourself up by screaming. You stare at the ceiling, at the cables hanging up there, you can’t see much through the migraine aura, letting the softness of the sleeping platform register, how it puts strange pressure on the ports up and down your back, and letting the noise of Mituna knocking on the door and calling for you drag you back from the navigation block.

You hear Mituna leave the door and get the phone. He’s probably calling Kristè, god you hope he’s not calling Kristè.

He called Kristè.

You’re sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform when he comes through the front door. You barely have time to cover the brand on your upper thigh before he’s in your respiteblock. You’re going to look like a fucking dork with your hand there for the entirety of his visit, but you’re the one who doesn’t sleep in pants, and it’s just long enough to stick out of your boxers.

You so aren’t in the mood for this. You have a migraine, you hurt all over and you really want to go back to sleep, but you know you can’t.

 _He’s_ standing in your respiteblock in black pajama pants covered in little red crabs and a fucking ridiculous hoodie. He did remember shoes for once, green flip flops with flamingoes on them. You hope his kids are somewhere in your hive and he didn’t leave them behind. He’s holding your migraine pills and a glass of water, both of which he hands you. You take them from him, moving a snuggle plane onto your lap psionically. He frowns at you, you scowl back.

He kicks off his ridiculous shoes by the door and joins you on the sleeping platform.

            “Want to talk about it?”

No. You do not. You _know_ he doesn’t know what happened to you, you’ve made sure of it. If he knew he’d feel so fucking guilty, you know he does over Rosa.

            “Lyx, talk to me, please.” He’s using the ‘about to cry’ voice on you. You can’t stand seeing him cry. You pull a pillow over your head, problem solved. He smacks you with another one, moirail abuse of the highest caliber. You don’t make that joke. You know what his former ‘rail did to him. You inhale and you sigh. You don’t come out of the pillow. You know he’ll start crying.

            “Thhe owned me, Thi.” You guide his hand to the three pronged scar. You hear the intake of breath.

            “She didn’t…”

            “Thhe did. Her perthonal thip.”

You knew he’d start crying, he snuggles up under the arm holding the pillow over your face and cries into your undershirt. You vaguely wonder if your ports are water proof, you should probably shower soon, you’re gross. You set that thought aside for now and run your fingers through his hair. He doesn’t need to know more than that, at least right now. Now that he knows, he’ll harass  you for details. Details you don’t want to relive.

He’s asleep, slightly whimpering because he’s laying on an arm in order to be snuggled up to you. You roll him onto his back and check the bandage, it’s nearly bled through. You get up to get the extra bandages you keep for him, passing the mirror as you go.

You look like shit and need more sleep.

After retrieving the supplies you go back to the bed and carefully change the bandage. You notice how young he looks while he’s sleeping.

You remember he’s only eight sweeps old, you don’t remember how old you were when he died. You are so very old, almost as old as the witch herself.

Another trek to the bathroom and back and you lay down next to him.

You’re unable to do anything but watch as a subjugulator flings Rosa over a shoulder. You are bound. So is _he_. Leona has escaped, but her writing has not. _He_ stands as tall as he can and wears his chains with dignity. You are forced to do nothing but watch as he is forced to kneel at The Highblood’s throne. You notice the emotions behind the face paint and you want to kill the indigoblood.

_Traitor. Moirail Killer._

You want to hurl the words at The Highblood who has just handed you all over to your doom. You want to scream at him, drag him down with you all, drag him down with _him_ , but _he_ looks at you and shakes his head.

 _It is meant to be this way._ There is nothing you can do.

You try to end it quickly for _him_ but you are stopped, restrained and strapped into psionic repression, so you turn. You turn and glare at The Highblood.

You glare at him as _he_ makes his final sermon. You glare at him as Leona’s mourning cry echoes across the dessert. You glare at him up until you are pulled away, hissing, snarling and struggling.

The last thing you hear before the experimental installation begins is that _his_ body is gone.

You hope the moirail traitor came to his senses, but you doubt it.

You wake up screaming again. There is light coming through the windows now and Kristè is trying to shoosh you. You pull him close to you and he squeaks.

Never again. This time you will protect him and his dumb hoodies and tacky pajama pants with every spark you have.

You are Caylyx Captor, and you are broken, abused and generally not okay, but you don’t have to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Each troll has preferences on what they’re called, and who can call them what.  
> Caylyx prefers any variation of Caylyx (Cay or Lyx), occasionally Psii, never Psiioniic, never Helmsman.  
> Kristè prefers Kris (Krees) or Si, he will accept Signless but never Sufferer. Rosa calls him by his full name (Kristè Vantas) when he’s in trouble.  
> Caylyx's sections almost never use Kristè's name because he's conditioned not to use it.  
> Using mixed terms for Lyx's section: All trolls will eventually use human and troll terms but some human terms are also Highblood terms (bed, mirror, room, shower, etc) and he picked them up from Condy.


End file.
